


Hearthfire

by thelightofmorning



Series: Burn the Dragonfires Once More [5]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bridging Story, Child Abandonment, Fantastic Racism, Genocide, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Imprisonment, M/M, Past Torture, Past Violence, Post-Canon, Religious Conflict, Sequel, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 01:58:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelightofmorning/pseuds/thelightofmorning
Summary: Martin and Marius have defeated Alduin. They're looking for somewhere to settle and Heljarchen Hall in the Pale sounds perfect.But the civil war is threatening to break loose once more. Martin's work isn't quite done until he finds a way to resolve the conflict.Thank the gods he's Dragonborn and everyone will listen to him.





	Hearthfire

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, fantastic racism, imprisonment, torture, war crimes, genocide, child abandonment and religious conflict. Little bridging fiction between ‘Spark’ and ‘Balefire’, which will be the Miraak vs Martin story. Please read ‘Spark’ for it to make sense.

“What, precisely, is in the Pale?”

Marius bestowed a sour look on Martin as they trudged through the snow towards the isolated port town. The northern coast of Skyrim gave new meaning to permafrost as the snow never melted, the grass was lank and sere, and the only green things in sight were the too infrequent pine trees. Already they’d dispatched three wolves, a troll and a bear that was clearly ill since it had the bad taste to be wandering around during the winter.

“Heljarchen Hall,” Martin said over his shoulder, blue eyes merry. There was enough Nord in him to be able to bear the cold with equanimity. Or maybe the internal fire of a dragon’s soul kept him warm.

“I know there’s a Heljarchen Creek and a Heljarchen village but where in the name of the Eight and One is Heljarchen Hall?”

“It’s a patch of land just past that farm that’s over the border from Whiterun. Balgruuf was making political noises and I wasn’t in the mood to entertain him.” Martin peered straight ahead. “We’re nearly there. I can see the Khajiit caravan’s cookfire from here.”

Just over a century as a deep cover agent in the Thalmor had barely taught Marius anything more than just enough sorcery to pass as the late and unlamented Ondolemar. He was a skilled warrior with few equals in the world, but he couldn’t do much more than cast an Apprentice spell. Magic had never run much in his branch of the Aurelii; even his mother Ralinde had relied more on guile, a sweet tongue and the use of war fans when necessary.

But in Martin’s family… Aye. Martin’s maternal grandfather came from the Reach and the gift for sorcery ran through his veins, flowing down to his son and his grandson and his great-great-granddaughter.

“How do you think Korli and Ghorbash will get on?” he asked, peering longingly towards the golden fleck that had to be the Khajiit’s fire.

“Quite well, I think. She’s more than half-Reacher in attitude and they’ve apparently always had a good relationship with the tribal Orcs. If Madanach achieves his goals, she’ll be protected from the Empire and any vengeful Stormcloaks.”

“I think he will,” Marius agreed. “The man is truly one of the great rulers of the world.”

They reached the Khajiit campsite and Martin peeled from the cobblestoned road to greet them fluently in Ta’agra. A brief discussion saw their raw pelts exchanged for a generous purse of coin. “This one will sell these in Cyrodiil for many coins,” the Khajiit woman purred in satisfaction.

“Only if you learn to haggle better,” remarked a sarcastic voice from the tent’s interior. When Marius peered into the gloomy space, he saw nothing but white and grey paws and violet eyes.

He chose to say nothing. It was rare to see an Alfiq outside of their homeland because people seemed to have trouble with a sentient housecat.

They walked into Dawnstar and were greeted by the sound of arguing, complaints about a lack of sleep and one idiot proudly proclaiming the grand opening of the Mythic Dawn Museum to a mage who rightfully told him he was insane.

“Are you sure you can’t buy land somewhere else?” Marius asked as they walked towards the Jarl’s hall.

“Morthal’s too isolated and Falkreath’s ruling family are pieces of shit,” Martin responded quietly. “Skald, at least, will die soon.”

Skald was a querulous old man who insulted his huscarl, his court wizard and his hapless servant after threatening to execute two Legion veterans because one of them wore his old armour.

“You really should have learned that silencing Shout from Korli,” Marius observed in Akaviri, earning a laugh from Martin.

“What brings you to Dawnstar?” Skald demanded as they approached his throne and offered shallow bows. “We don’t need Thalmor or their Imperial lackies here.”

“I am Martin Northstar and this is my _husband_ Marius,” was Martin’s reply. “We were hoping to buy some land but if you’d rather not have the Dragonborn and the Blade who landed the deathblow on Alduin living in your Hold, we can go somewhere else. Ulfric said something about a house called Hjerim-“

“Dragonborn!” bellowed a hearty Nord in bearskins, clearly the local commander of the Stormcloaks, as he entered from a side room. “Got sick of the soft life in Whiterun, eh?”

“I’m interested in Heljarchen Hall,” Martin admitted. “My other option is the Reach and I don’t know if Madanach’s good grace extended past the defeat of Alduin.”

“You could end the civil war,” the commander noted.

“For which side? The only one that wins in this civil war are the Thalmor,” Marius told him. “I worship Talos too, but can’t you lot do it quietly?”

“The Dominion knows Skyrim is the heartland of Talos worship and even if we’d continued our worship quietly, they’d have come for us,” the Stormcloak said with a sigh. “I am Frorkmar Banner-Torn. Ulfric has declared you and Marius to be true sons of Skyrim, heroes of legend for your actions in Sovngarde.”

“Thank you,” Martin said softly.

“I, err, seem to have been mistaken,” Skald said quickly. “I do have some land… just land, no buildings.”

“We’ll source the lumber from Riverwood,” Martin assured him.

“You still need to do something. There’s a giant near the roads to the south of the Pale. Kill him and you may have the land for five thousand septims.”

Marius nodded. How hard could a giant be when they’d killed Alduin?

…

“I swear to the gods, the next time I agree to kill a giant, use that silencing Shout on me,” Marius said with a groan as he sank into the wooden tub.

“Or when I agree to help a priest of Mara with nightmares,” Martin agreed with a wince. He’d pulled his hamstrings trying to dodge that bastard giant.

“I wish we could shut up that idiot Silus though.” Marius glowed golden as he healed himself.

“Agreed.” Martin sighed. “Well, at least when we’re living at Heljarchen Hall, we’ll be as far away from him as humanly possible while still being in the same Hold.”

Afterwards, when they’d had dinner and made love, Martin lay in bed listening to Marius breathe. Over a century of pretending to be a Thalmor Justicar, with the requisite atrocities, didn’t seem to bother him. Or perhaps he kept it to himself with Akaviri-bred stoicism.

This quiet life had never been something he imagined. As a farmer’s grandson, he’d wanted to escape the sleepy old hamlet in County Bruma for the bright lights of the Imperial City. As a peasant, he’d wanted to escape the mediocrity of his life for the power and prestige of a mage. As a mage, he’d wanted to escape the tediousness of Arcane University for the decadence of a Sanguine worshipper. As a Sanguine worshipper, he’d wanted to escape the nightmares for the pious life as a priest. As a priest, he’d wanted to escape the hell that was Kvatch for the ability to do something. As Emperor-to-be, he’d wanted to find only peace with Aurelia…

Martin allowed himself to think on what could have been. As Emperor, he might very well have been a disaster, reliant as he was on Aurelia and the Blades. From what Marius said, Julius Martin could very well have been a great Emperor and Arius… Well, Arius was damaged from his mother’s murder. Rustem and Irkand as Emperors were enough to make a Greybeard laugh. Korli… He honestly couldn’t say. She was as shaped by the traumas of the Aurelii as everyone else, but she had chosen – much like him – to channel it into piety and action.

Now he relished the thought of his own home, built with his and Marius’ own hands. He’d picked up a lot of coin killing dragons, rewards from several Jarls and judicious selling of loot. Atronachs and Telekinesis could assist with the heavy lifting and surely there was a Dremora or two he could summon with the Sanguine Rose for the crafting.

He smiled before drifting off to sleep. It would be good to have a place to call his own.

…

“You’re certainly rubbing it in everyone’s faces that you’re a mage.”

Martin looked up from the plans for the alchemy wing to see an amused Bjarni with a broad grin on his face. Behind him, Atronachs and Dremora sawed, hammered or cut as appropriate to the task they were set, the former set to crude tasks and the latter bribed with exotic alcohols to do the skilled labour.

“If you think this is odd, wait until you see who is carting the lumber,” he replied with a matching grin.

“Yeah, I saw Odahviing earlier. Thank the gods he’s the only red dragon in Skyrim or several thousand people would be collectively shitting themselves.” Bjarni leaned against the workman’s bench, remarkably calm for a Stormcloak faced with several unnatural events occurring around him. “How’d you get him to do it?”

“See that mammoth carcass?” Martin asked, nodding to the corpse in question. “That’s his dinner. Giants attacked us two days ago and… well. Thank the gods I’m a Conjurer.”

“Yeah, they’re the reason why Skald couldn’t offload this place despite its proximity to Whiterun,” Bjarni agreed.

“What brings you here?” Marius asked, coming over from chopping firewood, axe resting in a loose and easy grip.

“Officially, I’m here to honour you for your defeat of Alduin, blah, blah, blah, and deliver Da’s greetings to the honoured Jarl Balgruuf, blah, blah, blah, but honestly I came by to see how you were doing,” Bjarni replied. “I’m unofficially supposed to ask where the hell Korli went too.”

“We’re doing well. As for Korli,” Martin couldn’t help the grin, “She’s gone off to the Reach with Ghorbash to settle near Sky Haven Temple.”

Bjarni sighed. “That’s a gauntlet to Mother’s face. I understand why she did it, but the Stormsword’s going to see it as joining the Forsworn.”

“How, precisely, are the Forsworn different to the Stormcloaks outside of race and culture?” Marius asked.

“Honestly, they’re not.” Bjarni spread his hands helplessly. “If I were leading the rebellion, I’d pay wergild, support an independent Reach, and join forces with Hammerfell as a united coalition against the Dominion. But I suspect that isn’t Madanach’s endgame.”

“Bjarni… I will be frank.” Marius rested his axe against his shoulder. “Skyrim can’t stand alone as an independent nation. I was as deep cover an agent in the Thalmor as you could get and I knew many of their secrets. They call the Great War ‘the First War Against the Empire’. The Dominion will come again, in a generation or two of their time, not yours. They will let the Empire get complacent. They will undermine High Rock and Skyrim. Then they will launch another attack.”

“Not even in a coalition with the Reach and Hammerfell?” Bjarni asked helplessly.

“No. There’s too much bitterness. The Thalmor played both sides – hired Reachfolk mercenaries to attack Nord settlements and Nord mercenaries to attack Reach settlements – and played your father like a lute, knowing he’d let your mother have free reign.” Marius sighed. “I acknowledge Talos as a god. But Shezarrines don’t last forever. It’s not in their nature.”

“Shit. So you’re saying we should reach terms with the Empire?”

Martin nodded. “The Empire needs reform. I believe the Imperial Heir has spent time in Skyrim incognito. She might be sympathetic to the more moderate demands if you approach her.”

Bjarni said several things, mostly in Atmoran and Dunmeri but with a few choice Argonian and Khajiit phrases thrown in. Martin had to admire his inventiveness in swearing, if nothing else.

“I’ll talk to some people. You should be careful,” he finally said. “The truce may be broken soon and you’re on the border.”

Marius smiled grimly. “If your people are stupid enough to attack us, they deserve everything they get.”

“I’ll pass it along.” Bjarni nodded and turned for the rangy bay gelding he’d left nearby. “Talos with you.”

Martin sighed as he left. The politics never ended.

…

“Look, there’s no one else who can mediate these talks. If you don’t do it, who will?”

Judging by Martin’s expression, he was wishing he was somewhere else. Marius could hardly fault him as they’d been caught at home by Legate Primus Rikke and Falk Firebeard. Heljarchen Hall was slowly coming together, the front hall temporarily serving as a cottage until the main body of the house was built, and winter was just at its tag-end now.

“Has Elisif delivered yet?” Martin asked, changing the subject shamelessly.

Falk smiled. “Aye. She named him Torygg for his father.”

Martin nodded. “Tell her that Torygg is in Sovngarde. I saw him enter the Hall of Valour myself after Alduin’s defeat.”

“That will ease her heart,” Rikke said. “But don’t change the subject, Dragonborn. You’re known to be friendly to the Stormcloaks and I know it was your advice that led Bjarni to talk his parents into more negotiations.”

“The Stormcloaks have their points,” Marius interjected. “The Empire has cannibalised the provinces to keep Cyrodiil intact for two centuries. The Dominion is counting on freedom movements to spring up, thereby weakening the Empire as a whole. They may even be sending in native agents to foment such things.”

“Or creating quislings to do so, thinking they’re acting on their own honour,” Rikke said quietly. “Ulfric is one, though he’s proven more tenacious and resilient than most I’ve met.”

Marius smiled grimly. “He has shaken off the Thalmor’s control… but he has been conditioned. Elenwen was… good at her work.”

“Akaviria is aware of all this,” Falk said. “She even knew Bjarni for the year he was fostered with the Grey-Manes. As for respecting Nords… She is a fully-fledged Companion of Jorrvaskr. Even Ulfric nor Sigdrifa can’t deny that.”

There was only one Cyrod Companion. “Ria? The girl who goes ‘I killed a bear yesterday’?” Marius asked in disbelief.

Rikke grinned. “The very same. I might add she’s had Shieldmaiden training on top of that. I know, because I was the one who helped train her.”

“I knew a Shieldmaiden. Sidgara,” Marius said quietly. “She died at the hands of Thalmor agents who used Mehrunes’ Razor on her. I hunted them down, used the weapon on them, and then helped arrange its destruction.”

Rikke’s eyes widened. “You’re _that_ Marius, the one who knew Martin Septim, Aurelia Northstar and Sidgara?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I was deep cover for a long time and that’s all I’ll admit to. The Dominion still has agents in Skyrim.”

“We know. I’d have eliminated them, myself, but Elisif says better the devil you know of,” Falk said reluctantly. “But we digress. Dragonborn, will you host the talks?”

Martin sighed. “Fine.”

…

“You told us you would not interfere in our taking of the Reach!” Ulfric roared, shaking the rafters of Heljarchen Hall with his voice. “But my people are suffering ambushes, ruined supplies and murder!”

“Maybe because the native Reachfolk have no love for you and are rightfully retaliating,” Elisif retorted. “I’ve already told their emissary I will recognise the Reach as a fellow kingdom when Madanach throws your lot out.”

“What?” Tullius and Ulfric exclaimed in unison.

Idgrod Ravencrone laughed. “I have too. I’m fifth cousins with Madanach.”

“WHAT?”

It went downhill from there and when Catriona, who dropped the illusion of a Nord warrior to reveal her Hagraven self, calmly announced that she had never been more ashamed of her daughter Sigdrifa after a lifetime of disappointment as she was now, Ulfric almost Shouted the roof down in rage.

“Well,” Bjarni drawled into the silence that followed his bellow, “I suppose that means I’m no longer the family embarrassment.”

The ensuing laughter was more than a little hysterical but it broke the tension. When it died, Martin finally spoke with the authority he would have held as Emperor.

“The Empire and the Stormcloaks will pay wergild to each other and the Stormcloaks will pay an additional wergild to the Reachfolk for the Markarth Incident. The Jarls of Whiterun, Haafingar, Hjaalmarch, Winterhold and the Rift will remain the same, on the condition that Elisif marry a Stormcloak nobleman when her mourning period is done, and that Saerlund Law-Giver be wed to Ingun Black-Briar. It has come to my attention that the people of Falkreath and the Pale wish new Jarls; Egil Ulfricsson will become Jarl of Falkreath and Brina Merilis was voted the Jarl of the Pale in Holdmoot. I, too, recognise the Reach as a sovereign nation on the condition they ally with the Empire.”

His blue eyes caught and held Ulfric Stormcloak’s. “I think you are a good man, Ulfric, but the fact remains you are compromised by treason and the aftereffects of the Great War. You will relinquish Eastmarch to your son Bjarni and go to High Hrothgar or exile as you prefer.”

The Jarl of Windhelm went pale as milk. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I kill you as a danger to Skyrim,” Marius said clearly. “This is the only mercy we can show you.”

Martin nodded to Tullius. “For the carnificina, General, I strongly suggest you retire and return to Cyrodiil to grow grapes or something. If I punish the Stormcloaks, I must do the same to the Empire.”

“He will be joining my Elder Council as an adviser,” Akaviria said. “But… you are right, Martin Dragonborn.”

“Empress, the exploitation of the provinces must end,” Martin told her. “You have seen the effects of it in Skyrim. We all know there’s outside forces who will take advantage of natural resentment and anger.”

“Agreed.” The young woman’s voice was clear.

“You expect us to agree to this?” Sigdrifa asked harshly.

“I would expect you to agree to anything that will keep you alive,” Akaviria retorted. “Given my preferences, I’d prefer your and Ulfric’s heads on pikes, but that isn’t going to happen.”

_“Enough.”_ Martin’s voice was icy. “Over the past two hundred years, the Empire has lost its way. Martin Septim, Sidgara and the Blades did not die for all of you to disgrace their memory and hand Tamriel to hostile forces on a silver platter.”

Egil folded his arms. “The fact remains you’re maintaining the status quo with a few meagre concessions. I would make a suggestion.”

“And here I thought Bjarni was the only sensible one in the family,” Martin muttered. “Go on, Egil.”

“We make Balgruuf High King. The man… Well, he’s a gullveig son of a bitch, but he rebuilt an impoverished Hold into the economic powerhouse of Skyrim, he put the dragons ahead of our petty politics, and he has skill in diplomacy.”

“Gullveig?” Balgruuf asked with narrowed eyes.

“You damn well know you’re gold-hungry. But your people live well and you rule with mercy.”

Elisif’s mouth tightened. “I have a claim.”

“To the Wolf Throne. But to be frank, Elisif, you know nothing of Skyrim and its ways. You haven’t even killed an ice wraith, so technically speaking, you shouldn’t be participating in this Moot.” Egil’s tone was matter-of-fact about everything. “Balgruuf’s got more experience at this table other than Father – and well, he’s no longer Jarl if we agree to this.”

“I would prefer Egil to be Jarl in my place instead of Bjarni,” Ulfric finally said.

“No.” Martin was firm. “If Windhelm were a city of just Nords, I’d agree. But you’ve got Argonians and Dunmer who comprise a full third of the Hold’s inhabitants and Bjarni has good ties with them.”

“Only because he keeps low company with them,” Sigdrifa said flatly.

“I don’t think a woman who abandoned her child because she was inconvenient should judge who her son spends time with,” Elisif said sweetly. “Besides, aren’t you always talking about the ‘good of Skyrim’? Well, the good of Skyrim requires you and Ulfric to fuck off and don’t come back.”

“She has a point,” Egil said quietly. “That Korli Voice-of-Kyne is not an enemy is only by the grace of the gods.”

Sigdrifa visibly struggled for several moments but her shoulders finally slumped. “You will regret this when the Justicars are dragging you to the crosses.”

Martin smiled. “I don’t think we need to worry about that.”

…

“Saint Talos?”

“Look, I know it’s semantics, but it shuts the Stormcloaks up and has them complying with the White-Gold Concordat. By any theological standard, Talos – Tiber Septim – was a god-touched being not unlike your early Aldmeri culture-heroes or Saint Alessia. There’s at least, hmm, five or six active Tongues running around. You damn well saw what one of them did at Northwatch Keep.”

The new Dominion Ambassador to Skyrim, one Elneco Trimalian, raised an eyebrow at the High King of Skyrim. “I didn’t realise you were familiar with theological standards, King Balgruuf.”

Balgruuf shrugged easily. “I studied at the Bards’ College and High Hrothgar until my father’s untimely death. Even now, I like to read scholarly treatises in my spare time. Are you familiar with Halneth’s _Theory of Dissolutive Reality?_ ”

“I can’t say that I have,” Elneco admitted. “I know my superiors won’t like your… semantics, as you say… but it does fall under the White-Gold Concordat. I, for one, have no interest to repeat the horrors of the Great War or Tiber Septim’s atrocities upon the Summerset Isles.”

“Well, yes. I must personally confess that as a culture-hero, Talos appals me. Ysgramor had _some_ justification after Saarthal but Tiber Septim was a prick,” Balgruuf admitted candidly. “I hope to see a future of man-mer cooperation.”

“Are you sure the Nords won’t excommunicate you for saying that?” Elneco asked with a faint smile.

“Hah! I worship Zenithar, my friend. Good, sensible god for a man who wants to rebuild his country.”

Elneco rubbed his hands. “Well, I have a few ideas…”

Martin pushed away from the balcony as the two began to talk. “No wonder Whiterun’s fields are so rich. Balgruuf’s bullshit must manure them all.”

“But Egil was right. He is the kind of High King Skyrim needs at the moment,” Marius said as they headed for the stairs. “Back home, love?”

Martin smiled. “Yes.”

He had a home and it was good. Never more would he wander or be subject to the tides of fate.


End file.
